


Broken

by EmiWanKenobi



Category: Batman (Movies - Nolan), Batman - All Media Types, The Avengers (Marvel Movies), The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: Angst, Hurt No Comfort, Implied/Referenced Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, M/M, Non-Explicit Sex, One Shot, Short One Shot, no happy ending, sad babies are sad
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-05-30
Updated: 2015-05-30
Packaged: 2018-04-01 21:13:17
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,263
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4034782
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/EmiWanKenobi/pseuds/EmiWanKenobi
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Later he would choose not to think about how hello led to this, the pair of them alone in the dark part of the mansion, groping and touching and breathing hard in the stillness. How they didn't even speak, just came together like a crash of thunder and hard, needy bodies.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Broken

_And I don't want the world to see me_  
_'Cause I don't think that they'd understand_  
_When everything's made to be broken_  
_I just want you to know who I am_

_-Iris (The Goo Goo Dolls)_

* * *

 

The last time Tony had seen Bruce Wayne was the day he’d buried his parents. Howard and Maria Stark had just died, the papers grieved the loss of such a great mind and a kind heart, and Tony had gone though the whole thing with a blank expression that most attributed to shock, a few attributed to indifference.

Wayne was the only one who’d walked up and looked at him with a sense of understanding. Then again why wouldn’t he? Wayne had lost his parents, too. Tony had attended that funeral, though they’d both just been kids then.

That was years past, though. This wasn’t a funeral, it was a fund raiser. There were no black umbrellas or hushed tones that were supposed to symbolize grief and respect for the dead. Everything around him was bright and glittering and full of laughter and chatter and flirting. 

Which was why it was so strange to see Bruce there. Right then Wayne looked more like he belonged at a funeral than a party. The glittering lights didn’t seem to touch him and the laughter rolled right off of him. He smiled, sure, laughed, flirted, blended right in with everything else. But the smile was too wide and too bright, blinding people with so much brilliant cheer that they couldn’t possibly see past it to notice how broken the look in his eyes was.

Tony saw past it. He usually hid that look with booze and snark and a bright and shining ego. Bruce seemed to hide it with laughter so forced it almost hurt to listen to.

When he first decided to walk over and say hello (the closer he got the worse Bruce looked, dark circles that showed in stark contrast to pale skin under too bright lights) he hadn't anticipated the way Bruce's eyes would lock onto him, dark and intense and shadowed. They were hard to look away from, a gaze that seemed to bore into him and recognize all the dark, intense, shadowy things that hid within Tony's own soul.

“Hey there, Brucie. Long time no see.”

“Stark.” A handshake that was just a bit too tight. “It’s good to see you again.” 

They were practically strangers, the friendship they’d had as children long since faded, but with a glance and a handshake something between them instantly matched up, clicking into place. Two broken pieces of human being that became a little more whole when they came together.

Tony didn't like to think about being broken. He didn't like to think about how when he looked at Bruce, past the smile and the laughter, he saw the same emptiness in his eyes that usually reflected back in the mirror every morning. He tossed back a drink to wash the thought away, but found it again the next time he looked the other in the eye.

Later he would choose not to think about how hello led to this, the pair of them alone in the dark part of the mansion, groping and touching and breathing hard in the stillness. How they didn't even speak, just came together like a crash of thunder and hard, needy bodies.

When their lips met it wasn't gentle. It was barely even a kiss. More like a wild clashing of teeth and tongue that tasted like sadness and -- especially on Bruce's part -- a barely controlled kind of desperation. He was lonely and aching to fill up the emptiness that throbbed in his chest. Tony was easier, already half filled with vodka so that the loneliness didn't echo so sharply. But he knew what Bruce needed. Something reckless and meaningless, hard and fast and wild that would distract him from all the things that were missing.

Fake love because neither of them were any good at finding the real thing.

They stumbled back as hands got in the way of one another, buttons tugged loose and ties undone by trembling fingers. Bruce shoved Tony against the couch and the edge dug into his spine, but with a shift the pressure eased and he tore the jacket and shirt from the younger man's shoulders.

The sex was just as wild as the kiss. They did everything right, Tony still swimming in vodka while he let Bruce pound him into the mattress. It wasn't gentle, or loving, or soft, it was pain and anger and emptiness pouring out in a primal act, and while they both found release, they didn't find pleasure. When Bruce finally dropped to the side after it was all said and done Tony wondered if the other still felt as empty as he did.

They spent the night in each others' arms, draped around one another while sweat cooled on their skin. Tony needed more vodka, but he fell asleep before he could convince himself to get up for it.

He woke up to a sore body and an empty bed, and the soft sounds of clothes brushing skin as someone dressed. It took him a few seconds to remember who he'd brought home last night, before the reflection of a dark head in the window reminded him. He blinked away the memories of hurting and needing and rolled over to watch the other man dress.

"You don't have to go yet." Tony almost really wanted him to stay. At least it would mean having someone around who understood. Then again, maybe that was a good reason to want him to leave instead, taking the reminder with him.

Bruce barely even paused in his movements, his hands faltering for only a beat before they went back to buttoning his shirt. "You could stay for breakfast at least," Tony tried.

Bruce finally glanced back at him, flashing a smile as insincere and empty as the one he'd been wearing when Tony approached him the night before. In the morning light it looked even more heartrending; resigned to emptiness instead of desperate to fill it. "No thanks," he said, while a wry smile briefly took place of the insincere one. "I've got a date for brunch."

The next few minutes passed in silence, until Bruce finally had himself in order. Without a glance back he swept his jacket from the floor and swung it over his shoulder. "I'll see you around, Stark," he said, heading for the doorway. He only paused when he was nearly there, and reached for a half empty bottle of scotch discarded on a low table.

Tony watched as with silent steps he turned around, bringing the bottle back. Bruce passed to him without a word and Tony took it with equal silence, holding it in his hand until Bruce was finally gone.

He didn't know if the other young man had been kidding about brunch, but he didn't think so. It seemed likely Bruce would go on, have a nice date, smile too much, and probably spend his afternoon trying to lose himself in flirting and laugher and sex again. Tony, for his part, intended to lose himself in the scotch, to add it to what was left of the vodka and let it fill him until he forgot all the things he didn't want to remember. And maybe, if he and Bruce were very, _very_ lucky, they’d both finally get what they were looking for, in whichever way they went about trying to find it.

**Author's Note:**

> Cross-posted from my Tumblr account. Reviews and/or concrit are love!


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